Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Those who are interested in knowing the way of the Carl may wonder why the Carl offers a list of approved names throughout its hallowed site. Though your incapacity to comprehend the Carl is tiresome and lowers our estimation of you severely, we will lower ourselves to explaining the reasons behind our teachings.

While the Carl disapproves of procreation on principle (hence the emphasis on yaks and dolyaks in its adult entertainment material - there's little danger of impregnation in such assignations), it does recognize that not all are as enlightened as the Carl when it comes to the production of offspring. If you must engage in the creation of lesser beings, the least you can do is dub them with a Carl-worthy sobriquet.

Since you are clearly a heathen in the ways of the Carl, we seek to educate you in names which are worthy of a nod of approval from the metaphorical head of the Carl. However, since you may not possess the Carlness to intuit the way of Carl naming, we will educate you more explicitly. There's no need to thank us for our divine intervention. Seeing the next generation of snot-nosed brats grow up with Carl-worthy names will be a sufficient expression of your gratitude.

Rule 1:Blorf must be part of every name.

While it is unlikely in the extreme that your children will be worthy of having Blorf as a first name, you must include that name somewhere in your progeny's name. You can give it a middle name or several middle names and place Blorf amongst those names. If you already have a child and have not named it with Blorf in any way, you may nickname or legally rename your child with Blorf. This will increase your Carl credibility greatly.

Rule 2: You should try to incorporate a descriptive name.

Good examples of this are "Hogun the Unpredictable" or "Pehnsed the Loudmouth." If you are a filthy monkey, you might name your child something like "Griddletoe the Feces Thrower" (full name "Griddletoe Blorf the Feces Thrower". If you are a practitioner of the rhythm method, you could name your child "Blunder (Blorf) the Accident" (Blunderblorf is a righteous name by itself, of course). Of course, if you are a practitioner of the rhythem method, then you should rename yourself "Ding (Blorf) the Imbecile".

Rule 3: You should try to use funny sounds in the name so that other people might amuse themselves by saying the name.

Words that end in "k", "i", "y", or "g" and start with "do" and "bl" have the greatest potential to amuse. A good example of this is "Mok Waagwaag". Words that bring to mind more entertaining words are also desirable. These include "scutum" and "spetum." While naming your child "Blikk Blorf Scutum" may get him kicked in the 'scutum', his sacrifice will be worth the hours of entertainment you'll receive from saying each and every part of his name.

Bear in mind that "amusing word plays" do not include pathetic puns. "Molotov Rocktail" is good. "Sir Dancelot" and "Boner Pimpson" are bad. "Flek Grokspit" is good. "Pooby Brownfoot" is also good. The important thing is to carry the suggestion of the concept you want to get across, but to not be too obvious about it.

The Carl looks forward to hearing the names of your vile spawn or your efforts to rename yourself. You were unworthy of our assistance, but we offer it in our infinite benevolence. You're welcome!

Monday, November 24, 2008

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via the time-honored delivery method of brick + note + window = delivered! Unfortunately for some, the brick landed heavily upon Mesmerizing Carl's dainty (and ill-protected) foot, rendering her ability to participate in the Carlish games rather limited. Following her cursing spell, the Carls examined the note, but given their limited capacities of pattern-recognition (particularly with Mesmerizing out of commission), the note was set aside after a series of incoherent grunts and head-scratching. Eventually, Necrotic Carl worked up the wherewithal to transcribe the words for future reference, in case they actually meant something.

[... information evidently continued from a previous page that was not delivered]

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,But tell of days in goodness spent,A mind at peace with all below,A heart whose love is innocent!

Byron has some odd way of speaking the words I'm always thinking... at least, words I might be thinking if there were a female anywhere in sight! God I hate this place.

[Day 4 of Carl hunt--4:15pm]I managed to stalk these "Carls" to what appears to be their base of operations. At least, I assume so--in all honesty, the place feels like a ghost town. I've been scoping the place out for two days now and I've only seen them all together once; most of the time, it's just one person wandering about aimlessly muttering about "damned minkeys" being too difficult to work with. I've dubbed this particular Carl "Moe" due to the frequency of her imprecations against her none-too-frequent companions.

In the little time I've had to sniff about the place, I've detected notes of leather, mold, and an overwhelming stench of monkey feces--it seems the Carls have entertained visitors before. In the time I've spent observing her, "Moe" has rearranged and re-rearranged a collection of small figurines scattered everywhere in the hall. I'm beginning to think she has some sort of compulsion. Out of curiousity, I snatched one of the figures when she wasn't looking, just to see if she'd notice. Not only did she notice, she appeared to be unable to function properly until she discovered where she had stashed it. She tore through her pack like a warrior seeking something to smash, after which she moved on to the seemingly bottomless chest in the corner of the room. Realizing that I'd perhaps awakened something better left alone, I slid the figurine onto the floor below its shelf in order to make her think it had simply fallen. When she noticed where it had ended up, she scooped it back into its proper place, muttering under her breath about "minkeys" again. I'll keep an eye out for these creatures--they sound dangerous.

[Day 6 of Carl hunt--2:14am]Finally, I have some peace! That miniscule armored beast with a penchant for axe-smashing (henceforth dubbed "Larry" due to the fact that he never really seems to know what's going on) apparently has an affinity for all things alcoholic as well--he has a rather impressive stash of various different grogs in the basement of this hall and he is certainly not afraid to use all of them. That said, he's not the problem; it appears I've encountered the creatures that Moe had rambled on about during previous evenings. Unfortunately, this also led me to discover the apparent source of this place's "homey" aroma. The Minkeys appear to have a somewhat regular tradition of raiding Tankarific's stash during the wee hours, generally after the Carls have wandered off. These ill-mannered simians not only consumed a fair portion of the substantial liquor cabinet, but they also "refreshed" what I had previously took to be markings made in mud on the walls. Imagine my dismay when I learned the truth about this "mud"...

I've finished my inspection of this territory for whatever traps or hazards the Carls may have placed about, and aside from a rather ... unusual waste disposal facility, the place appears to be relatively unguarded--a fact I found remarkable given Moe's evident obsession with her decorative figurines. Nevertheless, this obviously bodes well for my mission... whenever I decide exactly what it is.

[Day 9 of Carl hunt--11:54am]My "intelligence gathering" has encountered a completely unexpected (and quite bewildering) obstacle in the form of a creature that for the life of me, I simply can't understand. I was creating an inventory of all the figurines scattered about when I sensed that someone was approaching. I barely had time to duck behind one of the mossy pillars supporting the hall's excuse for a ceiling before a ... man, I think, wearing the brightest pants I had ever seen appeared. Trust me in this: my words can never even come close to describing just how ostentatious his outfit was. This is due in part to the fact that I couldn't look directly at him (for fear of being blinded, both from the light and from horror), but more so to the fact that there are no words for this ... thing. As he entered, fireworks started going off throughout the hall, and it took a supreme act of will to keep my feline instincts suppressed enough to sit still, lest I be seen. Although to be honest, I doubt my emergence would've made the slightest difference to him; he appeared to pay no heed to anything at all, running about in circles and dropping snowmen behind. To him, I doubt I would've even registered as a novelty, which is largely what I find so inexplicable. At least with the previous two humans, I could sense their overall demeanor: Larry, like any other warrior, can't think beyond the point of his axe, and sees no need to change that; Moe, on the other hand, seemed driven to seek out the most efficient means to whatever end she had at the time, and most of those ends would've led through me. "Curly" (as I've dubbed ... him), however, didn't appear to have any motive for anything. His mindless wanton exuberance left me reeling--in fact, I believe I passed out briefly, and emerged dumber from the encounter. Thankfully, by the time I came to, he had moved on (hopefully to visit those Minkeys; *that* would be an encounter for the ages!), leaving me time to gather what few thoughts I had remaining to me. I'd never encountered a being with such ability to completely obliterate rational thought from himself and all of his surroundings... let us hope I don't encounter him again.

After my mind had cleared, I hastily sketched this portrait of what I experienced. I no longer know how accurate it is.

It seems these Carls could potentially put up more of a fight than I had anticipated, however inadvertent their efforts may be.

[Day 13 of Carl 'hunt'--1:11pm]Tonight I decided to conduct an experiment and observe these Carls in their natural habitat. After all, thus far I'd only seen them being drunk, acting drunk, and obsessing over minutiae in the protection of their own home. As a result, I packed myself a ration kit from my remaining vending machine spoils and sauntered off after them (at a safe distance, of course) on a trip into a horrible region with water that appeared to be made of stone.

Proper food for any Charr-on-the-go.

Larry appeared to be particularly excited about this foray, as it allowed him the opportunity to bring a small turtle that fired ping-pong balls at his enemies. Although the creature's attack didn't noticeably impair his enemies' abilities, his master derived great joy in the form of drunken giggling fits every time he glanced down and remembered that it was there.

[Day 14 of Carl 'hunt'--9:24am]Scent carries forever in this lifeless ocean, and yet with all this expanse, the only other Charr I've managed to catch wind of is that vile traitor that follows the armored one around like a pathetic lapdog. I can see why he had to leave his own people, of course: he makes very poor combat decisions, drawing enemies near when his packmates are obviously recouping after a recent fight. After his targets have drawn closer, he runs like a cowardly human with his tail tucked between his legs until all the fire has been drawn to his compatriots, at which time he hails arrows down upon their heads (with no regard for friends or foes) at the rate of approximately one arrow per hour. Just for the hell of it, I decided to throw some of my own arrows into the fray, as my stalking was growing tiresome. As a test of this poor outcast's ineptitude, I decided to see if I could fire an arrow, have a snack, and fire another arrow all in the time it took him to finish applying poison to his quiver.

My last Kit-Kat meets a worthy demise.

I actually managed to finish the entire bar before he had finished firing a single arrow. I'm not entirely sure why the humans keep him around, but Larry appears to dote on him like a den mother, praising his durability all the while ignoring the fact that his cowardice is a direct cause of said longevity.

[Day 16 of Carl 'hunt'--4:03pm]Several days of observing these creatures in action have dulled my lust for revenge after what they did to my "friends". In fact, my smoldering disdain for them has given way at least in part to a sad sense of pity, at least for Moe. Despite her obvious addiction to miniatures, she appears to be the only competent being of the three. In the instances where the party is divided (which happens far too frequently, mostly due to Curly's unpredictable whims), Larry and Curly inevitably end up dashing about in endless circles; they obviously think they're going somewhere, but neither appears to be able to read a map, so they just continue wandering, oblivious to their surroundings. The drunken one at least has an excuse--after all, that dwarven ale packs quite a kick, and he never seems to put it down--but the other... well, he's simply an idiot. Or an idiot with a death wish. Or a remarkable savant at emulating the actions of an idiot with a death wish. Regardless, I have estimated that the party would've accomplished their goal 90000% faster without his influence. He reminds me Lumpy, in a way, but with less fur (at least prior to the flea egg incident). And, of course, uglier.

[Day 20 of Carl 'hunt'--12:34pm]It appears the Carls' quest has reached an impasse; they have been instructed to deliver a box from one village into the hands of a grateful recipient across this ocean. In and of itself, this would seem to be a simple task. Any who would expect this to be so for the Carls, however, has never encountered Curly. Showing no regard for the task at hand, as soon as the box was in sight, he snatched it away from his leader and proceeded to begin opening it in hopes of discovering ... well, I don't know what he was looking for. Something shiny, I imagine. Moe, in a vain attempt to get the party back on track, tried to take the package back, resulting in a pathetic tug-of-war over something that was probably worthless to all involved.

Not actual photo of the struggle.

This process lasted for the better part of an hour, at which point the miniature turtle vomited forth another ping-pong ball, which distracted Curly long enough for Moe to secure the cargo once again. Larry remained oblivious to all around him as he gulped down another tankard and waved his axe about menacingly at the rocky waves (coming dangerously close to decapitating Curly, I might add--I'm not entirely sure he would've regretted it if he had). At this point, I decided that I had little else to gain from further observation, and as my supplies were running low anyway, it seemed a good time to return to the hall and consider my next move. Just for fun, I fired a few arrows into a pack of irukandji that were drifting nearby (surprising the Charr with the Carls, who was about to do the same thing) and began to make the journey back. I do not know that this experience has clarified my future plans regarding the Carls at all; however, I do know I can't handle any more insanity for the time being. Perhaps next time I follow them, I'll wait until Moe is going out alone. She seems to be the most tolerable of the bunch. Plus, she doesn't appear to be as modest when picking out her clothes...

Monday, October 13, 2008

Research and Development has recently come out with a new method of luring players to the Luxon Armada.

On a recent foray through the Jade Sea, Zenox Aroya opened a Luxon chest and found to his surprise that it contained not treasure but a fully qualified healing monk. He was naturally surprised and extremely pleased with his luck.

The monk, one Nadezhda Gavrila, told him a tale of being kidnapped by barbaric Luxon’s and locked into a chest to be forced to serve the one who opened the chest. Apparently, the Luxon Armada hoped that they would be able to increase their own strength by kidnapping Kurzicks and forcing them to serve their enemies. This dastardly plan was thwarted, however, in this instance at least as Zenox was a Kurzick infiltrator in the Jade Sea and immediately set Nadezdha free.

We would ask that any Kurzicks infiltrating Luxon territory open all chests that they find in the hopes that any of our comrades that fall into enemy hands are released as Nadezhda was.

Friday, August 29, 2008

The coroner's office after a short and utterly slip-shod investigation has declared that Mr. Freezie, missing now for nearly a week, has likely perished in some sort of freak accident. During a brief interview, in which the coroner's office was curiously heavily stockpiled with Dwarven Ale, corn, Kit-kats, and yak porn, the coroner told this news agency that he was closing the case so Freezie's grieving family and friends could move on with their lives. When asked if the coroner might be under any pressure or influence from external forces to close the case prematurely, the coroner looked around nervously at the booty surrounding him and said, "of course not."

Mr. Freezie was known as a happy-go-lucky fellow who did his best to add a little child-like whimsy to the lives of those around him. In his youth, he worked in the snowball factories of the Northern Shiverpeaks making ammunition for the inhabitants of the Secret Lair of the Snowmen to assist them in defending their territory against "heroes" attempting to infiltrate their home and rob it of vital Dwarven ale, candy canes, yuletide tonics, and insidious snowman summoners.

The deceased, seen here playfully teabagging a friend as his fiancee looks on. (file photo)

As he grew older, the socially conscious ice man decided his conscience would no longer allow him to make weapons of war and mayhem so he opened up a kiosk in Lion's Arch and sold snowballs to children so they might playfully pelt visiting heroes during Wintersday festivals. During the off-season, he made a living selling ice to local purveyors of drink and food.

It was at his kiosk that he met his future fiancée, Mesmerizing Carl. He told those close to him that he couldn't help but fall for her as she was the only creature he'd ever met who had a heart colder than his. Snowmen pals of Mr. Freezie said that he remarked that he knew it was true love when Mesmerizing delivered a fresh carrot to his kiosk each week to replace his wilting nose. In the wake of his passing, his grieving fiancee said, "Mr. Who? What are you on about? I've already forgotten about him."

Friends and family will remember him for his always smiling face, dashing top hat, and playful demeanor. Memorial services will be held at Carlhalla later this week. All comers are welcome to attend and kindly asked to bring a donation of corn, yak porn, Kit-kats, or dwarven ale to honor Mr. Freezie as the CARL guild is curiously short on such necessities at the moment. Plenty of ice will be on hand for those who bring warm beverages.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Love seems to be in the air as of late for the Carls. After I posted my recent breaking of a heart, Mesmerizing announced that she has decided to tether herself permanently to her new beau, a grinning jack ass who is the only creature almost as cold and icy as Mesmerizing herself.

I've never cared for her hulking friend, and I care even less for a permanent attachment between he and Mesmerizing. When she announced their upcoming nuptials, there was much nattering on about finding a nice igloo in the north and settling down to raise a bunch of tiny ice children. I'm pretty sure that the only reason these two ended up together is that he's the only one that will tolerate her Hummel figurines and she's the only one who finds painfully cold creatures attractive. I don't even want to know about their sex life, or how they're planning on arranging conception.

The big problem isn't their disturbing lifestyle, but rather the fact that I can't allow that big collection of icicles to take Mesmerizing out of the game. She not only has all our useful collectible items in storage (and we can't let her walk away with the bulk of our collective wealth), but she's the only one who knows her way around. Without her, we'd be running in even more circles than usual.

Sneaking away for our "bachelor party."

That last straw was when she declared that she would be redecorating Carlhalla so that her future husband would be comfortable in it. While she plans on living "la vida domestica" (I practially threw up when she said that) at their temple of ice cubes, she does expect to pop by the Guild Hall on occasion to show us boring pictures of their honeymoon and any little icelings they spawn.

After hearing that she was going to lower the temperature by about 70 degrees in the hall (which will destroy our custom-made toilet by changing it from a pit of lava to a pit of volcanic rock) and change the decor to "early Eskimo", I decided to take action to stop this relationship in its tracks. I sent Mesmerizing out for champagne to celebrate and while I had the ice man alone for a second, I suggested we have a bachelor party the likes of which Mesmerizing would never approve of. I told him that we'd make sure she got good and ripped on high-priced booze, then sneak away for some ale and whore action.

I must say that I felt a lot less guilty about what I was planning when he looked at me with that idiotic grin and nodded his snowball head "yes". After all, if he's cheating on Mesmerizing with paid trollops, how devoted can he be?

Problem solved.

I gathered up a few of "the guys" who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut if I paid them to do so (Olias, Pyre, Zhed) and we headed out of town for our "bachelor party". While Frosty the Snow Fiancé turned around and said, "where's the party," we let him have it right in the popsicle.

I'm sure Mesmerizing will forget him soon enough. After all, she's more interested in her mini pets and knick-knacks than romance. I'll buy her a mini Freezie and she'll find him more than a sufficient substitute for her former fiancé.

As for the disposal of the remains of said former fiancé, let's just say that none of the drinks at Carlhalla will be going warm for a long, long time.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

A man gets lonely while he's out and about on the questing trail. Sure, there are other heroes traveling along for the ride...a bossy and impatient mesmer, a crazy necro, and a crop of hired lackeys. They're no sort of companions when a man needs a special kind of comfort.

Most of the time, a man can wear himself out smashing things with axe to dull the gnawing hunger for intimacy. When that fails, or there's nothing left to smash with axe, there's always the cold comfort of the bottle. People think a man gets falling down drunk all the time for the simple joy of inebriation. Well, they'd be right, but there are also those times when sorrows need to be drowned in dwarven ale.

Just when you think you can't take the loneliness anymore, you wander across a special someone. Tentatively, you approach, hopes high that she'll sense the chemistry as well. It's not just the sight of her, it's also the sweet musk of her scent. It's a sort of intoxication that you can't get from mere alcohol.

Of course, a really special companion doesn't give herself over easily. There is a subtle and coy exchange of looks. There has to be a recognition of a true connection between you before baser urges are acted upon.

When that magic moment comes, and that come-hither look is directed your way, you know that your loneliness is about to end. When it's all over, you need a cigarette, and to high tail it out of there before day-break when she wakes up.

After you score and make a clean getaway, you party Carl style. After all, there are plenty of yaks in the bend to comfort you the next time you get lonely.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Editor's Note: This transcript was recently delivered to CarlHalla via an arrow shot through our stained glass portrait of Prince. It is evidently in response to a recent vanquish in which the Carls stormed the Charr's beloved Flame Temple. During said foray, the Carls destroyed all cat-related bests discovered therein with scathing verbal taunts and imprecations against the Charrs' respective mothers. While the party was frequently sent packing (leaving trails of shame and urine in their wake), they eventually emerged triumphant. ... Or so they thought. This column was evidently sent by a survivor--one who didn't take kindly to the Carls' interruption of his daily activities.

...hate that guy so much. He thought that damn nickname was so clever; now everyone in the Temple is calling me 'Snuggles'! Every single day I think about shoving an arrow into the back of his skull... no one would even notice it was me; they'd just blame it on one of those damn rangers that seem to have the range of a small cannon. One of these days, I swear I'm going to do it. Even the shamans that coward always hangs out with won't be able to bring him back then...

[Day 4 of temple guard duty--8:43am]I can't believe it's only been four days since I was sent to this worthless excuse for guard duty. We're not even really guarding anything; we haven't heard reports of any of those Ascalonian "heroes" for weeks, and yet here I am, standing watch over this pile of dirt we've crowned as holy. Stupid shamans. I bet they just named this a temple to see how long they could get us to stand guard over it before we finally got tired of the game and went back home. They probably have a royal outhouse at the top of this thing.

[Day 6 of 'temple' guard duty--3:42pm]That idiot in charge of us just called me "Snuggles" again and fell over himself in a fit of hysterical giggles at his own cleverness. Yeah, way to go buddy--oh, wait, your actual name is Lumps Ruinator! What the hell were your parents thinking, dumbass? ... I totally should've said that to him. I'll note it down for next time, in case I forget. Hate that guy.

On an unrelated note, I saw what looked like gigantic three-headed squirrels prowling about the perimeter today. Here's hoping they find Lumps and "Ruinate" his business.

[Day 9 of 'temple' guard duty--11:34am]A little over a week out here now, and I can hardly tell; every day is exactly the same. Seeing as how this stint comes straight on the heels of my last deployment to the north, it's been months since I've seen a female of any species, let alone a feline one. I gotta admit, after a while in the field, some of these guys get pretty desperate; I think I saw one of my fellow rangers getting awfully frisky with those gargoyles yesterday. Poor bastard... I don't even want to know how long he's been away from home; all's I know is that won't be turning my back on him, if you know what I mean. At what point in history did our priests sit down and decide that women don't belong in the field? Did our religion develop overnight at a gay slumber party? How can these idiots not see the distraction this can eventually cause? Hell, even those human vermin allow their females to fight alongside them--and in armor that amounts to little more than gauze and floss, at that! I think the other day I saw this little tiny creature running around the outskirts of the temple in nothing but underwear and tattoos! She *must* have divine protection, not to mention some bitchin' sunblock.

Speaking of lotion, the other day I found Lumps' shampoo and mixed some flea eggs I got from eBay into it; no signs of hatching yet, but the next week or so should be interesting. Thank god we can still get mail out here--although oddly enough, the only porn you can get is dolyak stuff, and that's not quite to my tastes. Still, they start to look nice after a while...

[Day 14 of 'temple' guard duty--10:15am]If I ever catch the rat-bastard who told Lumpy that I was responsible for the shampoo prank, he'll have a fresh arrow hole where his brain used to be. The day after the outbreak started, I found myself "reassigned" to this desolate patch of the Diessa Lowlands at the entrance to the temple. This, of course, means I only get to socialize with the axe-wielder troglodytes that we basically plant here as mindless roadblocks to prevent stupid humans from waltzing on in. Officially, I am to watch out and hail arrows upon unsuspecting travelers, but everyone knows I've been placed here as punishment for teaching that moron a lesson. Heh. Those fleas were awesome though; they had to shave the poor bastard to clean him up, and he was covered with bites. Seeing him blush in embarrassment around the welts almost makes it all worth it.

Artist's rendering of Lumpy's new look

[Day 16 of 'temple' entrance guard duty--12:45pm]This morning I attempted to have a conversation with the mongoloids accompanying me in this waste of a guard duty cycle--big mistake. Attempting to decipher their grunts (emitted whilst spewing forth clouds of crumbs--we were eating breakfast) was a singularly frustrating task that I eventually gave up to focus on watching the dust blow about the entrance to the corridor. After a while, the dust actually starts to look like humans sneaking upon us, but I generally attribute that to boredom. After my fruitless attempt at banter with the moron twins, I had to get myself a snack from the vending machine (thank GOD they let us have that out here; otherwise we'd be forced to subsist on army rations). The fact that a candy bar costs over 2 platinum out here seems a bit excessive, but after a few weeks, it becomes more reasonable. Besides, what good is the money going to do me out here?

Ah, Kit-Kats, my only friend. I can't count the number of afternoons I've sat out here humming that song to myself for hours on end. I asked the axe twins if they remembered the song from our younger days and they presented me with looks as blank as their minds. Warriors, I've learned, don't retain information longer than the few seconds it takes their brains to reprocess what they've heard into one of two things: "Smash with axe!" or "Why no smash with axe?" After several fruitless attempts ("Gimme a break! Giiiiiimme a break. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar!" No? Nothing? Screw you guys.), I turned about to enjoy my candy goodness in peace.

Image reproduced by CarlHalla staff

I managed to eat about half of it (I always save the last two bars for later) when suddenly I felt a series of overwhelming sensations; I could feel my body's vitality slowly draining and the smashy twins started roaring incoherent ramblings towards the entrance. I somehow couldn't bring myself to care about them (my spirit felt... something... not wrathful or vengeful... but something like that. It's hard to describe.), but I suddenly realized that a small group of human vermin had dared attack us! And in the middle of my break, no less! The last thing I remember was firing a series of exploding arrows towards a particularly scantily-clad female in a mask, and slowly falling to the ground. A tiny man was hurtling towards my cohorts screaming "Tankarific smash with axe!"; I guess some things are universal.

[Day 18 of 'temple' guard duty--17:57pm]It's a peculiar feeling being the only creature alive in an entire region. My own feelings regarding my surroundings (as well as those who inhabited them) are obviously well-known and oft-lamented, but even I could never envision this. It's been two days, and still, I'm the only thing that dares move in this wretched place. On the bright side, I broke open the vending machine and took all the candy I could cram down my gullet, but even the joy that Kit-Kats once brought to my heart was eclipsed by the burning desire to track down those who were responsible for the destruction of all that I once despised. After I finish looting the corpses (and urinating on Lumps' now-smoking remains), I plan to set off on the trail of those who brought this down upon me. I may kill them--after all, it is my duty. I may thank them--because hey, I hated that guy. But one way or another, the hunt is on.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

It has come to the attention of the Carls that the filthy minkeys have been overusing our Sharon. Now, we can understand the urge to use our Sharon because she's one of the few players who knows what she's doing most of the time. In fact, one of the wags in our alliance once referred to her as "CarlWiki" because she seems to have the answers to all questions. However, we must protest this over-use of our Sharon.

The situation in which we are finding ourselves (that is, us, the glorious Carl) is that, by the time Shawn and I log in and are ready to have ourselves some Carlish fun, Sharon has already been played with for 2-3 hours. Often, she has been consorting with monkeys during long and difficult missions. By the time you are finished with her, she's in a ragged and almost spent state. Her batteries are practically drained and she's dirty and disheveled. Frankly, we're too impatient to put her in the recharger and too lazy to tidy her up so we'd just rather you stopped using her before we get a chance to do so. If you can't play gently with her and return her to us in her original state, you can't play with her before us. You can have her when we're done. She was ours first, after all.

In conclusion, I must impress on you filthy minkeys that, as Shawn stated in the preceding post, Sharon is a vital cog in the Carl machine. Without her, we are an imbalanced entity and have no idea how to complete quests or find our way around the game. In fact, you'd be surprised at how hopeless Shawn and I are at accomplishing anything without her presence. Okay, so you wouldn't be surprised. My point is that she's ours and you can't have her so stop "borrowing" her and wearing her out. It's our job to tax her patience and fatigue her and it's a responsibility we enjoy. It's pretty much the only responsibility we enjoy.

(Note: In case there are any humor-impaired minkeys out there, I'll say that my tongue is in my cheek. That may actually arouse some of you perverse monkeys, but trust me that it has to do with indicating this post is not to be taken seriously and not some disgusting monkey sex thing.)

Monday, July 7, 2008

Rejoice, my ravenous fans, for I am return-ed to these hallowed pages and I bring with me enlightenment for those legions of Carl supporters who have clamored for a deeper explanation of all things Carl. I should mention at this point that this post will not contain your usual allotment of screenshots of the Carls caught in action; instead, I plan to cover this screen with nothing more than words, most of which will be of the five-dollar variety, as I don't usually bother to carry larger denominations. Indeed, I am here today to shower you all with my own brand of understanding (as well as a substantial dose of verbiage), a process that may also answer the number one question most frequently asked of the Carls when they are discovered: How do I know if I am a Carl? (I say 'may', of course, because I haven't thought that far ahead and could care less anyway).

The roots of the Carl have been well-documented already in Shari's earlier post, and I dare not attempt to improve upon it. Any who find her explanation to be lacking in appropriate details will find my own attempts far far worse, and probably less coherent. That said, it should be understood that the Carl is far greater than this single instance; while AngelKitty's momentous (and, for Battle.net, surprisingly well-formatted) chatter spawned the current incarnation of the Carl that we all know and love, this did not, in fact, create the Carl. The Carl was there, waiting for us to discover it, and it transcends any one person, game, world, or run-on sentence. The first step one must make in their Carl understanding is simply to accept that this understanding will not--nay, cannot!--come. Only by no longer attempting to understand it can the Carl's nature even begin to be grasped.

I have never been documented claiming to understand the Carl; indeed, I have rarely been documented expressing any coherent thought at all. However, I find myself in a unique position in that that very lack of understanding is what makes this explanation possible. Perhaps this is simply because few things about the Carl make any form of logical sense, as is shown in how it manifests itself in its practitioners. In my case, the Carl obviously exhibits a disdain for all things straightforward and serious, much to Sharon's chagrin when facing the tide of red dots that I am driven to rile up. Sharon, on the other hand, displays the very opposite Carlish effect: her attention to detail balances my complete lack of attention at all. This is not to say that her Carl is weaker than my Carl (her lavishing of attention upon filthy simians aside), as it simply makes itself known in different ways. Perhaps this delicate balance should shed some light on the Carl's inner workings. Between Sharon's fastidiousness and my own lack of any -idiousness whatsoever, we guarantee that neither portion of the Carl's will is ever truly more powerful than the other. Just as I fulfill the Carl's demands by wandering off aimlessly, so too does she eventually ensure that we get where we're going, and both parties have a richer experience as a result.

My more attentive readers have no doubt noticed that I have omitted the third party that makes up the trio of Carl representatives dispatched to Arena.net thus far in my explanation. Rest assured that this is not implying that she is a lesser carrier of the Carl than either Sharon or myself; on the contrary, Shari is a peculiar example of what I have tentatively termed a "Self-Balancing Carl"(TM). This rare instance of inherent Carl balance allows Shari to display the Carlish attributes of both her comrades while still avoiding the greater extremes to which the other Carls have been known to visit. As may be surmised, this allows her to get along passably well with both Sharon's driven nature as well as my own driven insanity. With her influence, Sharon and I manage to avoid a veritable clash of the Carl extremes every time we are in the same district. How does she do this? I certainly am not the right one to ask; perhaps it's due to the stabilizing influence of her rarely-mentioned fellow Carl who has thus far not been allowed onto Anet's demesne, or perhaps she's simply had years of extended Carl development that I lack the attention span for. Whatever the cause, she stands as the epitome of a Carl that has adapted to operate within the realms of sanity and normal society.

I realize that this treatise may come across as favoring one aspect of the Carl over another, but please, dear reader, believe me when I say that the Carl does not play favorites. Except with Blorf, whose name is so insanely awesome that he is now and will forever be the Carl's favorite weird gremlin thing. And yes, I know the question remains unanswered, but if you've made it this far in the article and still even care about the answer, your Carl needs a serious tune-up. A hearty regimen of reading the Carl archives is strongly recommended.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Name: Healing CarlHeight: Tiny. Very tiny.Armor: Varies, but usually she wears the nice set the Dwarves made for her, dyed a nice pink.Hairstyle: coiled buns.Dependents: Many mini pets, the rest of the Carls.

Turn-ons: Cathedral of Flame runs. Where she doesn't have to do anything. Getting lost. Masters on missions.

Turn-offs: excessive chatting during missions and quests. Someone in the party dieing. Warriors who run too fast.

In a clear indication of just how greatly the denizens of Arena.net need the Carl, a new Carl signal in a shape reminiscent of design of the Carl Guild's cape was installed this past week. When a desperate need for the Carl arises, the signal is lit and a giant Carl signal is projected into the sky. Construction of a "Carlmobile" which can travel at top speeds and shoot lethal corn kernels or expel noxious fumes (only functional when an elf is on-board) is also planned once a body in the shape of a large piece of candy corn can be acquired.

It is expected that the signal will be used in the following circumstances in which the Carl's presence would be invaluable:

Endangered corn.

Excess efficiency or seriousness while questing needs defusing.

An urgent need for yak or dolyak porn.

Nipple-dying is desired.

Wombats need stuffing.

Filthy minkeys need putting in their place.

Pants need fancying.

Mini pets need walking.

Toes need twinkling.

Fireworks displays are required.

Incoherence is wished for.

Excess sanity needs diffusing.

Free booze needs removal.

Pelvis-thrusting dance-work (whether desired or not).

During the first use of the signal, the Carl mobilized within seconds and struck out from Carlhalla to respond to the emergency. Several hours later, the signalers were still standing on the signal platform waiting for their saviors. CARL" doesn't stand for "Confused And Ridiculously Lost" for nothing.

Who knew that vigorously thrusting a branch with lights glued on the end could be so deadly.

Some of the Carl clan gets out less often than others. Tankarific is the social gadfly who goes everywhere and does everything. He is the favored child of his mistress. From his stern little face with knitted brows to his metal loincloth to his boozy breath, he's his mommy's favorite little avatar. That doesn't mean that there aren't other children in this happy family. Above you see Tankarific's little brother, Smiting Carl. You can see the family resemblance in the muscular tanned physiques and blond top-knot styles they share.

Smiting takes his brother's ugly dog out for walkies.

While Tankarific is the conventional sort who smashes with axe and gets smashed (in more ways than one), Smiting has the self-esteem to forge his own path. Unlike the more perverse characters who display their individuality by dying their nipples purple, Smiting shows his stuff by choosing one of the least popular skill sets. While other pathetic, neurotic, needy monks chase after fighting types and magic types and heal them in hopes of winning their approval, Smiting responds to requests for healing with a hearty, "screw you guys." Smiting takes care of Smiting.

Don't let those sunny yellow overalls and hippie shoes mislead you, this Carl is one tough boy. He can mash your corn with a stern look and a shake of his branch. Better bring some self-heal if you plan on partying with this Carl. Oh, yeah.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

The Carl presents you with a new feature. Well, it's a feature that may only have one installment if my slack-tacular fellow Carls don't follow my lead. The purpose of this is to help all our fanbois and fangrrls (it hurt me as much as it hurt you to write those words, possibly more) know the personalities, fetishes, and likely odors of the Carl characters.

We begin with the best of all Carl characters. Tankarific Carl.

Name: Tankarific Carl (duh!)Height: on the shrimpy side, but what business is it of yours?Armor: scrap metal, dyed orangeHairstyle: blond sumo wrestler (chon-mage)Dependents: one very ugly dog, a ping-pong ball popping turtle, a phoenix, and Shawn

Friday, June 13, 2008

Late last night an incident occurred involving MnKy Nadezhda Gavrila. The diminutive monk was trying to max her delver title on a paid Cathedral of Flames run.

Appalled by the intransigence of pugs, she had a psychotic episode and committed suicide. Sources say that the pugs would not stay behind the smiter, Nadezhda, and she became irate. Near the end of the run she was unable to cope anymore and flung herself bodily into a lake of lava.

Funeral services for the deceased monk have not yet been set. Those wishing to pay their respects should contact a MnKy for further information.

Friday, May 16, 2008

All work and little play makes Shari a dull Carl. I'm sure our legion of ardent admirers have noticed that I didn't manage to post last month and this is my first post this month. For about three months from late spring to early summer, this Carl has a pile of extra work. This results in several mathematical equations of relevance:

(A Carl) + (extra work) = (more money)

Unfortunately, it also brings this equation into play:

(A Carl) + (extra work) = (diminished Carl)

Now, here's a little test for you. If the following two equations are true (and they are, trust me, I know), is the following also true:

"Having more money diminishes the Carl."

If you believed the above statement was true, the you not only fail the Carl math exam, but you also fail basic logic. The Carl does like it when logic fails. In fact, the Carl would prefer that all logic be tossed out the nearest open window (or airlock, if you are an alien reader on its mothership or an astronaut on an orbiting space station reading this post). It's not the extra money that causes the Carlish energies to diminish, but rather the lack of time spent in Carlish pursuits.

I want to reassure our cornucopia of fans that the Carl blog is not wilting after an initial burst of activity. Unfortunately, the most prolific of Carls (that's me), is being forced to deal with the unpleasantness of reality rather than basking in the pleasantness of the reality of Carl. When my work is done, you will be well and truly returned to your regular programming of discussions about foul-smelling elves (and their equally stinky masters), corn, and drunkenness.

In the meantime, keep those cards and letters coming, but you filthy minkeys stop throwing feces at our door.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

During a recent foraging expedition to restock the larder of Carls' Kitchen, honorary Carl (and sometimes spy) Ghostly Wombat stumbled across several previously undocumented new species of roughage, which ultimately left CarlHalla designated as "unfit for visitors". This, of course, is vastly different from its usual motto of "Abandon all corn, ye who enter here". This article stands as a public announcement broadcast by the Carl guild as warning to any cooking enthusiasts, lest similar circumstances befall another guild.

Although Melonni obviously knows the fern is poisonous, she knows Carls never learn anything that they don't experience for themselves

Depicted above is the root cause of the problem. When presented with a glowing bush (or indeed, most anything that glows), the natural Carl reaction is "I could make booze out of that!" Consequently, Ghostly Wombat ignored Melonni's evident disdain for the fern and harvested a sample for the Carl distillery. It is a widely-believed fact that Tankarific will drink most anything that makes a sloshing sound when jostled, and she logically concluded that if said substance glowed whilst providing the drunken goodness that he loved so much.

Ignoring Melonni's chuckling in the background, Ghostly enlisted Gwen's help in gathering and transporting the herb back to the kitchen. However, she was soon sidetracked by yet another fascinating bit of herbiage:

Tahlkora gesticulates wildly in an attempt to prevent Ghostly from making a second mistake

Hypnotized by the leafy bush apparently growing out of a dinosaur's foot, Ghostly couldn't help but imagine the possibilities. Dinodrink? Scaly Delight? Gargantuan Grog? The possibilities were endless! Quickly harvesting a bushel of dino-leaves, she scurried back to CarlHalla in hopes of preparing a celebratory drink-fest the likes of which the filthy minkeys would envy for generations.

Despite several setbacks (including a couple small-scale explosions that had Healing Carl beating her senseless for damaging her precious wyvern painting), refreshments were produced, including a delightful salad that combined the products of both bushes. The dinner a success, Ghostly reveled in the guild's compliments. Until, that is, half an hour later, when several Carls begain experiencing minor digestive problems.

Godly Carl lets off some steam

After careful evaluation, the Carls have determined that any documentation of these events must be stricken from the record. On a related note, CarlHalla will be hosting a gathering to which all filthy minkeys are invited. Drinks will be served.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Welcome, readers, to another installment of "Carl or No?"! As our longtime readers know, this series presents the viewer with an assortment of images and asks whether the figures depicted are Carls, or simply plebeians who have no place in honest society. Now, without further stalling for time, let's get started!

Contestant 1 enjoys fine dining, long walks on the Jade Sea, and clowns! Let's have a few words.

[Goth/Emo Lovechild]: "Excuse me, I think I'm lost. See, I was heading for a KISS convention and my car broke down. Could you point me to the nearest phone?"

Good stuff, good good stuff. We'll have the audience's verdict at the end of the segment. And now, let's see Contestant 2!

Fancypants?! Wait, you're not Fancypants. Clever disguise though. See me after the show; I have someone I think you should meet.

[Tattooed Man in Girdle]: "Me Carl because me freeze things with eyenipples and smash with axe! ... No have axe now, but show later!"

[Audience]: "oooOOooo!"

My my, looks like Tankarific's got an admirer! Let's hope he doesn't drink, or CarlHalla's supply chain will be overwhelmed! And speaking of supplies, our next contestant is in charge of making sure that the Carls' minipets have a ready stash of pre-sliced kibble to suit any palate!

[Woman with Hair Julienne]: "What can I say? Give me a meat and I'll dice it up. In fact, it doesn't even have to technically be meat; this one time, I sliced--"

Let me just cut you off there, madame; this is a family column, and Diabolical Carl has already described your escapades with him in great detail.

[Julienne]: "Diabolical who now?"

Anyway, our next contestant claims to share a physical attribute with several of the Carls. Let's see if we can guess what it is!

So, would anyone care to take a guess? What Carl attribute is very prominently displayed by contestant 4?

[Audience]: "A face!" "The mask!" "Worms on his chest!" "A penchant for buggery!"

Well now, I'm not sure how that last one qualifies as a physical attribute, but it seems we have several ideas, and so far no winners. We'll announce the answer at the end of the column for you readers out there who can't stand to not know. And that brings us to the next contestant!

[Blue Crab]: "I pinch?" *scuttles around aimlessly*

Whoa, I think we have a dead ringer here! No voting necessary folks; he's obviously a pervert, and obviously lost/drunk/both! If that isn't Carl, I don't know what is! Let's move on.

Ho now, it seems we're in the presence of royalty! This contestant is almost as well-known as Prince Rurik himself for his tendency towards both dying as well as not-surviving! What do you have to say?

[Aggro-drawing Suicidal Masochistic Bastard who charges recklessly into battle every single time you're doing a mission in which he has to survive]: "Shiro must be stopped! Maybe if I dive from this ridiculously high platform into the midst of that deadly battle..."

[Audience]: "Heal him! Have all monks focus on him immediately and never stop!!"

Ha ha! Always the joker. And speaking of jokes, we've reached our final contestant of the day. This character is not likely to be familiar to anyone, and simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place when our cameraman was calibrating his shot!

This walking wardrobe malfunction apparently got up on the wrong side of bed and just decided to keep facing that way! Perhaps we have a royalty competition with our previous contestant?

[Kamikaze Togo]: "A crown does not royalty make. You have to be willing to throw yourself into any fray, no matter how hopeless!" *triggers group of afflicted pop-ups*

Well said, my frined, well said. And with the main segment of the colum out of the way, let's jump straight to the conclusions. Judges tell us: which ones are Carls?!

[Judges]: "Well, contestant one is obviously out. I mean, goth *and* emo in one package? That's not Carl, that's just freaking annoying. Plus, what's with that little patch of fur on his chin? Either grow a beard or don't! It's not a complicated decision!"

[Lovechild]: "I expected nothing less; this just serves to reinforce my impression that life is a pointless sad descent--"

[Judges]: "Someone drag him out of here. Moving on to contestant 2: this was a much tougher decision. I mean, he has eyes where his freaking nipples should be! That said, after careful analysis, we've concluded that this is not Carl, it is merely a poor attempt to disguise oneself as Carl in order to infiltrate Fancypants' inner sanctum. Everyone knows his penchant for all things nipple-related."

[Eyenipples]: *Attempts to smash the podium with the axe he forgot at home* *Looks confused*.

{Judges]: "Whatever. Go hang out with that Emo guy. With those pretenders cast aside, we can dig into the real meat of the competition. Sickle woman, despite her odd choice of makeup, is definitely a Carl in hiding, attempting to blend in with those who cannot understand her inner Carlness. Hell, she even chose a weapon shaped like a C for Carl, even though this design is obviously detrimental to her doing any real damage in battle. And, of course, this demonstrates her Carlness more clearly than anything, as a Carl is always willing to sacrifice effectiveness for fashion."

[Julienne]: "I thank you for the honor you have bestowed upon me. Now if you'll excuse me, I hear a horde of hungry minipets milling about CarlHalla. Sharon must've signed online."

[Judges]: "Ever dedicated to your work. Go with Carl, fine lady. Now for the man with worms on his chest: while the point on your head speaks for itself, you just don't quite seem to have the Carl 'zest'. Perhaps you come across as too focused? Might I suggest you add some corn to your garment decor and see if it helps your chances for next time?

[PointyHead]: *Hangs pointed head in shame* "I have brought dishonor upon myself and my house. I cannot bear to keep living!" *Charges in to join Togo*

[Judges]: "Iiinteresting... with that reckless maneuver, he might just be Carl material! We'll take that discussion offline for our next show. Now, as the Blue Crab's candidacy has already been established, we move along to that idiot trying to get himself killed in order to ruin our chances at beating this mission. No Carl, end of story. You suck Togo, I hate you, and you can burn in hell with Rurik and those damned ice imps that cast maelstrom whenever I stand still for more than 2 seconds.

"And finally, our crowned candidate of not paying attention... interesting strategy. It is true that a Carl would never be caught paying attention to anything evident, and despite your bad fashion sense, I think the crown works. However! You are docked infinity million points for not facing the camera during the shoot."

Well then, it looks like that sums things up! As always, you may not agree with the judges' decisions, but if nothing else, that simply proves that they're right! And for those of you that think the judges' last comment about the crowned one was contradictory, just remember: a true Carl ALWAYS knows where the camera is!

As longtime (and most shorttime) disciples of the Carl are well aware, the Carl is nothing if not a study in contrasts. Observers of the witty banter between the Carls and the Filthy Minkeys (TM) may note within moments a multitude of nonsensical statements, most of which conflict with each other. This seeming incongruity is due in part to the very eccentricity of the Carl; making sense has never held any place in the Carl's bylaws, and as such is not attributed the level of respect that is granted to, say, corn, or words that sound awesome.

Our more perceptive readers may have noticed that I said "in part" in the lines above, while those more Carlishly inclined probably lost interest and wandered off in search of something shiny and alcoholic. Regardless, I say this because the Carl's very contrariness to all things normal is also caused in large part by its very internal diversity. See the figure below.

Rurik is obviously disgusted with Tankarific's unwillingness to make others do all his work.

You may notice several layers of contrasts in the preceding image, some evident to all, but some only to those who know where to look. For example, the most obvious difference between the figures represented (Tankarific top, Rurik bottom, Bad Puppy left) is that Tankarific is the embodiment of all things tank: he stoically survives (usually), he's clad head-to-toe in shiny plate, he smash with axe, etc. In contrast, Rurik is the exact opposite: he's whiny (both alive and dead), has obvious gaps in his protective layers, is quite obviously flaming (or at least his sword is, and that's what's important), etc. The Bad Puppy, obviously, needs no description, as his faults were adequately mentioned in a previous post.

Now some may argue that this example deals with only one Carl, and as such, cannot possible encompass all the complexities of a true Carl contradiction. While valid, this complaint assumes that my argument is complete. If that were the case, what would the remainder of this long-winded post contain? Hmm? That's what I thought! That said, see the image below:

Tankarific and Necrotic rarely see eye-to-eye, for various reasons we won't get into.

Yes, it's another Tankarific example, as he is a favorite of our more primitive readers who can empathize with his straightforward manner of dealing with obstacles. Nonetheless, upon comparing the image with the first picture in this post, the most notable difference is the complete darkness in image 2, once Necrotic Carl has entered the picture. Tankarific, the epitome of good, proper (albeit often inebriated) society, has had his light muted by the presence of a more sinister figure. Although Necrotic tries to balance things out with a smashing choice of outfits, his hideous visage (shown in half-profile to protect our more impressionable readers) blocks out any and all light brought about by Tankarific's proximity. Continued evidence of this is provided in Figure 3:

A study in ugly? I hesitate to crown a winner, but the guy on the left looks somewhat like one of the sand people.

My apologies to our readers with delicate sensibilities, but as something of a hack writer, I tend to use shock value to get my point across. The ugliness contained in the image above has not been adequately measured, but top experts have described it as being "as ugly as possible without destroying all that is holy in the world." When asked what would happen if Diabolical Carl were to enter the scene, said experts' eyes widened in alarm before their heads exploded.

Excessive analysis aside, the figure in the foreground of Figure 3 has obviously dealt with Necrotic before, as he has come prepared with a full-face industrial grade gas mask and what appears to be flaming gloves to sterilize anything he touches. Necrotic wisely keeps his distance, contenting himself with leveling a malevolent glare at the oblivious creature. It should be noted that the begasmasked character, while not a Carl, appears to know how to properly deal with them, much as the secondary character in Figure 4:

Godly Carl likes to keep himself surrounded by fine ladies, even if they're colorblind.

Ah, finally we reach another Carl whose very appearance doesn't destroy the equipment with which his image is captured. Yes, we are viewing the (in?)famous Godly Carl, a rare sighting, given his recent reclusiveness. Known for dying frequently and being better at pulling than at tanking, we can see that despite the fact that he wears a dress, he still has time to inspect the wares of the opposite sex. Obviously his good fashion sense has become offended by the lime green abomination standing beside him, but he only has eyes for the necro woman in the tattered skirt. Some men might be concerned by the fact that she is obviously required to cover her face in public, but that is evidently not the area that he's interested in anyway. ... *ahem* but I digress. Our last Carlish example lies below.

Kuunavang feigns disinterest as the ladies inspect the megapet.

We close with two of the Carl ladies, evidently fascinated by one of the rare megapets that can be found sporatically throughout the Jade Sea. Ghostly Carl has a long history of antagonizing such behemoths, but this one has apparently captured her heart and Mesmerizing Carl's mild disinterest. Although these two women are obviously distracted by gigantic adorable animals, don't let their mild exteriors deceive you; Mesmerizing is known for her sharp tongue and rapid pace and Ghostly will promptly get confused and drop an urn of some random person's ashes upon your head before she realizes what's happening.

This concludes this installment of Comparisons in Carl; future installments will include several characters that, while not Carls, have attained the honored rank of "Cheap Imitation Carl" (and no, FancyPants won't be in that one either. You know you're disappointed).

Friday, April 11, 2008

Last evening the MnkY Guild Hall was invaded yet again by the alcoholic elf Steve. Not content though to desecrate the home of the buttmonkey alone, Steve brought friends.

Steve and his twin Bob brought their drunken prom dates to the home of the MnkYs to dance the night away in a state of drunken debauchery. Firewater and Creme Brulee were consumed and debris from the party scattered all over the lovely circular center of the home of the monkeys.

There was talk of dancing nude; but, luckily, Steve was persuaded with some difficulty to keep his clothes on as no one wanted to see a portly naked elf. Most were slightly nauseous at the thought.

Bob and his date left early as complaints were made about horny teenagers. I hesitate to conjecture as to where they might have gone from there.

Also, missing from the Monkey Hall are the items the merchant normally offers for sale. Steve was heard to say he was getting all the Monkey stuff. If you have any information please contact the representatives of the MnkY Guild.

Monday, March 31, 2008

Not content to bat us around like a chew toy, Battle.net also mocks us with a very sucky torch.

Some of our uneducated readers may not realize it, but the Carl was spawned at the feet of Battle.net. If Shawn is the grandpappy and the other Carls his unwilling partners in a lunatic coupling to create the off-spring, Battle.net was the back seat of the car in which the dirty deeds were done in birthing the Carl.

The Carls don't spend much time on Battle.net these days as their fickle attention is now focused largely on Arena.net. This morning, however, the Carls returned in full force to their old playing grounds for a little romping in Uber Tristram (for what is commonly called a "Pandemonium Event"). Uber Tristram is a special place where steroid-enhanced and crazed versions of Baal, Diablo, and Mephisto hang out waiting for earnest heroes to show up and bat them around for the chance at a special drop, a Hellfire torch large charm. The best of such charms give +3 to skills for a certain class of hero and 20 to all attributes and 20 to all resists. The worst will give +3 to all skills and 10 to all attributes and 10 to all resists. What's more, some classes are more desirable than others. Only smelly loonies enjoy playing assassins, for instance, so that is the least desirable class to receive such a charm for.

Not only are they huge and comical, but they, of course, do not stack in the stash.

Making one's way to Uber Tristram is not easy. You must first rough up several bosses in hell level difficulty and shake them down for pandemonium keys. You need 3 of each key and that in and of itself can take awhile as the keys drop in about 1 in 10 or so trips to the each boss's house. Since they aren't big on unannounced visitors showing up at their tea time and asking them to empty their pockets of goodies, it's not exactly a picnic running them. They're grumpier than Sharon gets when you don't listen to her and run off and angry up a bunch of enemies and facilitate a party wipe.

Once you've laid down the smack enough times for 9 of the correct over-sized novelty pandemonium keys, you have to use them to open up 3 portals where you encounter the semi-uber bosses. The main problem for the Carls is that Lilith, who has large naked breasts and is constantly bending over and attempting to stab the heroes' eyes out with her nipples, is very terrifying to the mammaphobic types (cough, Shawn, cough). Each of the three ubers leaves behind a juicy body part (horn, brain, eyeball) which you then used to cook up a portal to Uber Tristram.

Uber Tristram, the gateway to untold misery.

Now, the road has already been long, hard, and expensive so, once you generate that portal, you don't want Battle.net to do one of its drunken hiccups, toss you out into the lobby, and throw your game with it's rare and valuable red portal into the trash can. However, Battle.net is an extremely jealous entity and it does not take kindly to deserters. In retaliation for our dalliances with the likes of Guild Wars and Arena.net (that hussy!), Battle.net smacks us up real good during our sojourn into Uber Tristram. Oh, it let us get our body parts from the semi-ubers just fine and open up our portal, but then it played a mind game with us that even the most neurotic stalker girlfriend wouldn't inflict on you.

First, it let us make the portal and go in. We had encountered Uber Mephisto after a careful lure and beaten him down to a sliver of life when the screen froze then flashed us all a "You Have Lost Your Connection to Battle.net" message and tossed us into the lobby. Panicked that the game and it's hard to generate portal were now history, we jumped back in and issued a sigh of relief that the game was still intact. Now, our well-planned and executed lure of one of the three ubers is in tatters and they are all on us so we smack the nearest one and that's now Uber Baal. Bear in mind that, the longer you take to kill the ubers, the worse the situation gets as each one is constantly summoning minions out of thin air. We get Baal down to a sliver and the screen freezes and we're tossed out again. Once more we beat a hasty path back in before the game collapses.

Now, we're sensing a pattern, but we're gullible enough to try again and the same thing happens as we once more pound down an Uber to a sliver of life. We decided to jettison one of the players in hopes of placating Battle.net with a human sacrifice (bye, bye, Shawn, the large-breasted will trouble you no more). No dice. We kick another player out knowing that life is going to be very hard with only two of us in the scramble and Sharon gets sent packing. Two Carls are out and two are left (my husband is the other Carl).

Keep in mind that my husband has not been toying with that slut Arena.net as the 3D camera effects make him motion sick. He and I go back in and my ass is handed to me immediately and I exit the game and come back so I can collect my body more quickly. Meanwhile, in reward for his loyalty, Battle.net lets him wipe out Uber Meph all by himself while I scramble to pick up my carcass and jump back in through the red portal. I believe it is no mere coincidence that he alone was spared as the lone faithful boyfriend of Battle.net.

In the end, we got the torch, but the stats and hero class made it clear that Battle.net is still feeling uppity and felt mocking us was in order. We're going to have to work hard to placate this gaming service scorned. Sacrifices of Jell-o (what corn is to Arena.net, Jell-o is to Battle.net) and plush wombats will have to be offered on bended knee. If all else fails, it can have Shawn as a grubby, but passive, slave boy provided that it keeps Lilith away from him.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Image clearly pilfered from Cracked. Just because they're a joke site doesn't mean they aren't right! After all, the Carls are full of wit, charm, and infectious humor, but we are also clearly correct about everything of which we speak.

Some of you have wondered about the Carlish preoccupation with corn. Since you've taken the time to worship at the altar of Carl by reading this site (don't try to deny it because that's got to be the only reason you are here - you love us and can't stay away!), I'll let you in on a hint or two as to why the Carl loves corn.

You may not realize this, but corn is everywhere you want to be, in every product you want to use and in everything you want to eat. There's a list here, but it only claims corn is in 25% of the products we buy so they're not exactly the most reliable source. Nonetheless, they give the ignorant rabble who live outside the blessed aura of Carl a clue or two about the breadth and power of corn in our lives.

A biodegradable corn kitchen organizer. It looks like plastic, but has all of the power of corn. If you're starving to death, you can eat your organizers to survive until the next corn harvest.

In fact, if I were an investing sort, I'd be sinking my money into corn right now as it is certain that the future is going to be flying corn cars and high speed corn computers with high fructose processors. Mark my words.